Insomnia
by Shawshank
Summary: A short little angst for mother's day, dedicated to mine. Can Jarod distinguish reality from dreams, or is it all a hoax?
1. Insomnia

Preface and Author's note and all the usual stuff...  
  
The Pretender belongs to the Television Powers That Be, whomever they are, but this plot line belongs to me.  
  
This story is dedicated to my mom, who has been a supporting factor for my whole 'I-want-to-write-and-you-can't-stop-me' phase. She loves the Pretender, and specifically asked me to write a story about it. Mom, this one's for you!  
  
Luv, your rebellious, not-quite-teenaged-but-just-about-there daughter...  
  
So ha!  
  
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*Insomnia*  
  
  
  
A Pretender Story  
  
By Shawshank  
  
  
  
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There are pretenders among us.  
  
Geniuses with the ability to become anyone they want to be.  
  
In 1963, the Center isolated a young Pretender named Jarod,  
  
in order to harness his genius for our research.  
  
Until, one day, our Pretender ran away...  
  
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Jarod leaned back in his chair, contemplating his next move.  
  
He had all but run out of ideas, and was losing the upper hand.  
  
The Center was quickly catching up to the quick thinking, in-his-mid- thirties man who had managed to elude them for so long.  
  
He played with the videodisk Sydney had secretly sent him, and put it in his computer to watch it for the umpteenth time.  
  
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"Jarod, work with me, not against me. It's for your own betterment."  
  
The tone of Sydney's voice was low and slightly worried as he addressed his incredible pupil.  
  
"NO!"  
  
Incredible, yes, but Jarod could also be incredibly stubborn and resistant at times.  
  
"Would you rather work with Mr. Raines? You know that he uses other methods, far more painful than mine. Jarod, I want to be your friend, someone you can trust."  
  
"If you're my friend, then why won't you let me leave this place?"  
  
"You're safe here."  
  
"I'll accept the risk, just let me leave!"  
  
Sydney was puzzled. Jarod had never fought this hard.  
  
"Why do you want to leave, Jarod?"  
  
The boy's eyes glittered with hope and anticipation, the only thing that had kept him going.  
  
"I want to see my family, even if I can only stay for one minute. I want to see them, Sydney!"  
  
"You can't, Jarod."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
The boy's voice was filled with hesitations, choked by emotion and shattered dreams.  
  
"They won't let you leave, Jarod."  
  
"Who are they to decide my fate?"  
  
Sydney shook his head. Sometimes Jarod was more of a puzzle to him than little Timmy, one of Mr. Raines' failed projects. He forcibly erased the memory from his mind and focused on the present. No use in worrying over that. What was done was done.  
  
"They are who they are Jarod. They run this place, and they decide what happens here."  
  
"But Sydney..."  
  
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Jarod ejected the videodisk and snapped it in half in one of his rare fits of anger. His family, the one thing that had been kept from him for his whole life, believing that some great power had subjected him to this torture, causing him to live out his life in misery.  
  
Then, he had seen his mother.  
  
She was beautiful, and though he had only seen her for a second, her face was burned into his mind. She had paused, and seen him too, though she couldn't have known who he was. She came to him in dreams, causing him to wake up in a cold sweat.  
  
The Center. They had taken her away from him, but no more.  
  
He had a solid lead, and tomorrow he was going to follow it. It led to Tennessee, and he hoped to find her there. He would hold her close, kiss her wrinkled cheek, and never let go of her again.  
  
Mother...perhaps one of the sweetest words in the English language. Jarod would soon meet his mother, and they would make up for 35 years of separation. They would move to another country, away from the Center, and live out their lives in comfort and happiness.  
  
His mother. He only had to wait 12 hours.  
  
Those 12 hours would surely stretch out to eternity.  
  
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"Jarod, we know you're in there!"  
  
Jarod retreated further into the shadows. They had caught him sleeping, and this time there was no escape.  
  
"Open the door, Jarod."  
  
The hauntingly familiar voice of Sydney floated through the room. Jarod cringed, and curled up into an even smaller ball, if possible.  
  
"Jarod, open this door. There's no use hiding anymore. You're coming with us."  
  
Ms. Parker's cruel, soft voice mingled with Sydney's fading one, tainting the room with evil.  
  
Apparently Broots had managed to break open the door, because the team that had been searching for him for five years came through the door, guns drawn, with the exception, of course, of Sydney. The old man had a strange trust in Jarod, one that the Pretender himself had never understood.  
  
"Jarod, we won't hurt you if you come quietly."  
  
The man in question shrank back even farther, afraid.  
  
"Give it up, Pretender. Even if you did escape where would you go? To your family's house? They would never want you; you're a misfit. They don't want you, Jarod. They gave you to us willingly."  
  
Ms. Parker's voice, sweet as honey yet deadly as cyanide, crept through the room, dripping off of the furniture and taunting Jarod's twisted but brilliant mind.  
  
"NO!"  
  
Just as young Jarod had done so many years before, the Pretender screamed out that final denial and launched himself without restraint at Ms. Parker, the woman who had flitted in and out of his thoughts throughout the years. Playing with his mind, pulling on his heartstrings, and slowly driving him insane.  
  
One of the men shot him in the leg just before he reached Ms. Parker, halting his anger and frustration - driven assault.  
  
"Tie him up and throw him in the trunk."  
  
Ms. Parker didn't even spare her childhood playmate a glance as she sauntered out the door, a freshly lit cigarette in hand.  
  
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Jarod had passed out from lack of oxygen on the way over, and they had to pick him up and carry him into the building, Ms. Parker heading the strange parade. She was in full gloat mode, pleased with herself that she had finally been given the chance to prove herself against the famed escapee and come out on top of the situation.  
  
Sydney trailed at the back of the procession, looking fondly and sadly at his former student. Jarod was now being transferred to Mr. Raines' department, one of the worst possible things that could happen. His eyes lowered themselves to the dreary gray sidewalk as the rain began to fall. The Old Earth was feeling Jarod's pain, though there wasn't much that Mother Nature could do about the Pretender's predicament. It had become a full - fledged thunderstorm by the time they reached the building, and Sydney took one last look at the dull, angry sky before the door closed with a bang, shutting out the outside world once more.  
  
Jarod still hadn't awoken.  
  
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When the Pretender came to, Timmy, a.k.a. Angelo, was standing over him, a strange gleam in his eyes, which were sunken into his twisted face.  
  
"I've found a way out. Will you take me with you?"  
  
The words were whispered from a dry, cracked throat.  
  
"What?"  
  
Jarod's own voice was slightly fuzzy with misuse.  
  
"I said, I've found a way out. Will you take me with you?"  
  
Jarod smiled for the first time in a long time. He had found an ally in Angelo, and hopefully a friend.  
  
"I think the question is more if you will take me with you, not the other way around."  
  
"Let's go, then."  
  
The way was almost completely unobstructed, and the Center personnel were probably all off duty, seeing as it was night.  
  
But, the Center had guards posted 24/7...something was wrong here.  
  
Just as the thought crept into Jarod's mind, a security guard rounded the corner, and Jarod and Angelo barely escaped being noticed. Angelo motioned to Jarod, and the two crept into an air duct. Jarod replaced the grating behind them, and the conspirators crawled on hands and knees through the dust. Angelo whispered an explanation to Jarod as they made their slow way to the light at the end of the tunnel.  
  
"I put pictures over all the cameras. Since you escaped through here, they've taken extra precautions. They won't be able to see us, and there aren't any microphones in this place."  
  
Jarod felt elation with their proximity to freedom. Soon, he would be with his parents. His face split into a grin, and he scrabbled the last few meters with a light heart.  
  
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The Pretender and the Reader stood outside in the sleeting rain. Angelo looked at it, amazed, while Jarod dragged him towards the fence. There was no problem in getting over it; it was all about how fast you could get over it. He literally threw Angelo over the wire, and climbed up after him in record time. Jarod hot - wired a car parked outside, and he and the now liberated Timmy sped towards Tennessee, and home.  
  
After that was all a blur. It seemed like they got there in seconds, though they had to have traveled for at least two weeks. Either way, they arrived at a pretty, quaint little house in a small town. Jarod went to the door and knocked softly on the door. The sight that greeted his eyes was worth ten lifetimes in the Center.  
  
His mother was staring up at him and Timmy. She smiled and opened her arms, and Jarod's eyes leaked miniscule tears as she whispered into his ear, "I knew you'd find me, from that one single glance I took of you. I knew you were my son. We were wondering when you'd find us. Welcome home."  
  
The words were some of the sweetest Jarod had ever heard, but no word was so sweet as the one that now flooded through his trembling lips.  
  
"Mother."  
  
He swept her up in his arms and swung her around on the yard outside, her laughter mingling with his. The years and anguish dropped from Jarod's weary shoulders, and he shared a moment with his mother that they would surely laugh about in years to come.  
  
It was not to be so.  
  
A man ran out of the house, quickly catching Jarod's mother in a headlock and holding the gun to her forehead.  
  
"You'll come with us, or you'll never see her again."  
  
Jarod knew the choice, and he made it without a second thought. His mother's life was surely more valuable than his own was. Timmy was hiding in the shed in the backyard; apparently they weren't as interested in the Reader as they were in the Pretender. His mother wept as they took him away from her again, and Jarod turned away. He knew he would never see that face again.  
  
He tried to call out to her, comfort her, but they hit him hard on the head and he fell into a deep darkness. The darkness was soothing, but not as comforting as his mother's arms.  
  
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	2. Escape

Epilogue

A middle - aged man walked slowly through a graveyard. Leaves fluttered down to the ground around him, and he shivered, pulling his coat tighter about his tall, frail body. Sometimes he felt as if *he* was a leaf, just waiting to be blown away in the wind.

A huge old cathedral loomed up against the grey autumn sky behind him, reminding him of the hated place he had wasted most of his life trying to escape. By the time the government had finally looked into what the Center was doing, it was already far too late. All of the children had become adults, and the adults had become older and older, until they lost hope and gave up their plans of escape. 

All except one - and he was the one they all said would break first. After all, he had been labeled an insane lunatic when the government got around to him, and he had tried to escape so many times that his body was covered in scars from the beatings they had forced him to endure. 

He had tried to learn to let go of his hate, but he wasn't sure if he could. He wasn't sure of anything anymore.

The half - dead man with thin, prematurely snow - white hair crouched before a gravestone, and reverently laid a single, lonely stone he had found, that was plain brown when you looked at it one way, but shone like the pale moon when you tilted it just slightly to the right. He did so, and as he watched the light play over the polished rock, he smiled, thinking of his companions, all of whom had been freed from the Center, for better or worse.

He ran his fingers over the engraved letters, thinking of what they could possibly mean. The stone read, 'An unidentified woman killed in a car crash. We will always think of her and be reminded that death always withholds mysteries from us.'

Below this were the dates, 'Unknown - 2010.' A chill ran up his spine; he had known who the woman was. Then his fingers traveled over the words below, the eulogy he himself had written for whom he had considered to be his best friend in the Center. He closed his eyes and sighed, sadly shaking his head, and turned back to the two men who were assigned to escort him wherever he walked, to make sure that his mental instability would not escalate out of control. He cast one last glance back over his shoulder, and then gave in to the men, who gently led him back inside the insane asylum that was next to the church, assuring him that it was far too cold outside for a man such as he to be wandering around for hours. 

Behind his back, the cold wind blew through and between the graves. But it was not just the wind that moved. Another hand, a stronger hand than the other man's, also touched the wording, thinking over what the words meant. On the tombstone next to the small tribute to the unknown woman, a few verses and a message were carved:

'Here I opened wide the door - 

Darkness there, and nothing more.'

Here lies Jarod, a victim of the Center.

1977 - 2010.'

The figure straightened, and gazed after the haunted man flanked by guards with a slight smiled on his weather - beaten face. He remembered what Timothy used to be like, and his heart was gladdened by the sight of him, doing so much better. He only regretted that Timothy could not journey with him - the other man had been too traumatized, and after a few dozen attempted - escapes, his drive and determination only ran out when the government placed him in an asylum. 

But it was a good place - he had been watching, and he had been pretending, and he knew that they were taking good care of all of the Center kids who had been liberated only after they had been broken. He smiled to himself, stuffed his hands back into his pockets, and turned his face to the wind. His hood blew back from his face, and for the first time in many years he felt bold enough to show his face in public.

Jarod the Pretender was dead, to all knowledge. His birth records had been filed away somewhere, his SIN number had been dumped out like garbage. If anyone had been looking for him, they would only find that he was dead. He had considered completely removing the files documenting his life from existence, but he reasoned that if he did so and someone came looking for them, he might be exposed. So, for now and, he believed, for the rest of his life, he could only live in secrecy, never living in one city for too long, never taking a job for longer than a few months, or until people started asking questions, whichever came first. 

And through it all, even though the small tombstone next to his could very well have been his mother's, he desperately searched for his family, even though he was almost sure that the Center had sent out operatives to kill them in their sleep long ago. 

Jarod's long black overcoat drifted in the wind, and he turned to the west and the setting sun, lifting his hood up over his face and heading towards his second - hand car that he had bought cheap for about four or five thousand dollars, paid for entirely in cash.

Even as he walked, he remembered that night almost a decade ago, when he had woken up in a cold sweat in the hands of the Center. He had only been able to escape again with Sydney's help, though the old man knew he would be either fired or killed for what he was planning to do. Sydney had done it anyway, and Jarod had only learned of his apparent suicide when he had lead the government team on a one of the many Center raids.

Of course, the government had hushed up the whole thing, erasing records and denying media coverage to try and keep the image that they had absolute control over everything. As far as Jarod was considered, that was, and always had been, a load of crap. He was only lucky that the other Center kids had believed he was dead, and had told the government agents that he was indeed long gone. 

He smiled a bit, and opened the car door, slamming it after he drew his long legs into the car. He inserted the keys and started the engine, zooming away through whirlwinds of leaves and mustering rain droplets. He turned the radio up, just drawing the line between loud and blasting, and hit the play button. Oddly enough, classical music with lots of percussion and string instruments assaulted his ears, not the hard rock music he had originally inserted. He adjusted his mirror at the stop sign, but he froze solid when he saw someone standing in his rearview mirror. 

He shifted into park, taking his eyes off of the mirror for a split second. When he looked again, and whirled around to gaze through the window, the person was gone.

Was that...could it have been who he thought it was? Surely not...

He jumped at least a foot when Sydney tapped on the window, smiling in at him. Jarod unlocked the door and grinned, and the old man grinned back as he strapped himself in. The Pretender didn't know why he hadn't seen it before. Of course Sydney wasn't dead - he wouldn't kill himself, and he was too smart for even the likes of the Center to catch up with.

Sydney sighed, and rubbed his hands together.

"Well, Jarod, where shall we go today?"

Jarod grinned again, overjoyed to have some company, even if it was in the form of the man who had made his childhood a living hell.

"You know, I've always wanted to cross the border. You game?"

"As always, Jarod. As always."

With that, Jarod drove north, towards the Canadian border.

*** 

When they reached the Seattle city limits a few days later, Sydney smiled and held out an envelope to Jarod, who took it cautiously, but with the curiosity of a small child. He said, "Open it. It was left with me when you first came to the Center, along with these instructions: Only give it to him when the Sky Needle is in clear view. Look, Jarod. Look over there."

Jarod turned his gaze to the left, and saw the huge silhouette against the city light - polluted sky. He looked down at the letter, and saw his name written on the envelope in painfully familiar writing. He opened the envelope, and read the small slip of paper within.

It said, 'I've been waiting.'

When Sydney cleared his throat again, Jarod looked up, and there she was. His mother, in person. She smiled at him silently, but stayed standing where she was, giving no indication that she would rush to him and hug him senseless. She was totally unrecognizable - her hair was matted and full of grime, her clothes were patched and full of holes, and her entire body seemed to have aged. He didn't know how he knew she was his mother - he just did. But there was something too familiar about her - the way she wore the rags like a disguise, and when she swept off the dirty wig, he knew that that was exactly what it was. 

His mother had disguised herself from him. For some odd reason, that cut him to the bone. But then again, maybe it was for both their safeties. After all, he reasoned that he probably would have been even more cautious about setting up a meeting, and he probably wouldn't have waited almost two decades for an answer.

He smiled at her, blew her a soft kiss, and turned his back on her, driving north towards the border, leaving her sobbing with joy in the soft red glare of his taillights. 

*** 

~Fin. 

Make of it what you will. But always, always cherish your parents. Remember that they won't be around forever. And they can actually be pretty cool, once you get to know them.

As always, this one's for you, Mom.


	3. Epilogue

Epilogue  
  
  
  
Jarod's eyes snapped open, and he fought the restraining force that was being placed on his chest and legs. A familiar voice called out to him, "Jarod!"  
  
He sighed and stopped struggling. He had hit his head on the wall as he slept, and he could almost feel the lump forming there. The weight was lifted off of him, and he sat up, holding his head.  
  
"You just woke up from a bad dream. Welcome to your worst nightmare."  
  
The cruel voice tainted the room, and stirred up feelings he thought he had buried long ago. The source of his infatuation turned on her heel and left the room, a cigarette gleaming between her fingers.  
  
Sydney helped him up, and placed him on the hard bed, the only furniture in the small, cell - like room. Broots, the other one who had been holding him down, speed - walked after Ms. Parker. Jarod looked up towards the roof.  
  
He would wait for the chance, and take it. He would taste fresh air. He would find his mother, and live out that happy moment in which freedom and love combined.  
  
He would escape from this place, to see what it was like outside, even if only for a few minutes. The farthest he had ever gone before was about halfway through the ventilation duct.  
  
Jarod, the Pretender, would escape this accursed place.  
  
Even if he died trying.  
  
  
  
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Happy Mother's Day!  
  
~Shawshank 


End file.
